


Outed By a Drugs Bust

by Inactive Account (sassybleu)



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: BAMF John, Fluff, Happy Ending?, I write death so this is happy for me, Insecure Sherlock, M/M, Protective John, Secret Relationship, help me, idk - Freeform, idk how to tag it, implied sex, just read it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-21
Updated: 2014-06-21
Packaged: 2018-02-05 15:16:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,565
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1823065
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sassybleu/pseuds/Inactive%20Account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Their relationship status didn't leave the confinement of their flat, so when they got lazy days like this; Sherlock without a case, and John without work, they took full advantage of it. </p><p>Sherlock and John are together-but no one else knows that. The damage is done when Lestrade and his crew break in on a drugs bust.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Outed By a Drugs Bust

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt fill for liebling
> 
> Prompt: Secret relationship between S/J (*cue smut) when suddenly Greg walks in with drug bust (add lots of fluff)
> 
> Goal: 500 words  
> Disclaimer: I own nothing except my words

       It was the day after a big case, and the adrenaline had dwindled down to a steady pulse of tenderness. That’s what usually happened. Coming home, John and Sherlock would collapse into their bed on the main floor, and the next day they’d wake up sweet and slowly. Their relationship status didn’t leave the confinement of their flat, so when they got lazy days like this; Sherlock without a case, and John without work, they took full advantage of it.

       Sherlock woke up first, and worked his way closer to John, wrapping his limbs around the shorter man, careful not to wake him up. After getting comfortable, he’d start to trace invisible lines on his golden skin. Theorems, equations, pi, patterns; anything that came to mind became a part of the invisible etchings on his lovers skin. After writing John’s name on his own skin 30 or so times, the man’s eyes started to flutter. Slowly entering the conscious world, he wrapped his arms around the brunette and placed a soft kiss to the man’s temple.

       From the kiss led another, which soon turned into a fierce embrace, and progressed even more. Never rushing, they took their time. Enjoyment and love were the key factors here. John had taught Sherlock everything he knew about feelings, relationships, and love; and in return Sherlock did his best to show John that he tried to understand, even if he did not always succeed.  

       Sherlock wasn’t always like this. As a child, growing up in his family, he learned to shut himself down. He made himself emotionally numb to the point of diagnosing himself as a sociopath. But John changed that, as he had changed everything else in the man’s life. It started with touch, as it always does. Just a brush of the fingers as he passes tea; an arm at the crook of his elbow as he stops the taller man from walking; a pat on the back while laughing and complimenting the genius. And what Sherlock had found strange was that he didn’t mind it. Touch, that normally seemed irresistibly avoidable, he soon craved.

       It didn’t happen in the beginning for John either. He’d lived his whole life thinking he was strictly attracted to women. But, somehow Sherlock was the exception. The connection formed instantly, from those three simple words, “Afghanistan or Iraq?” but from then on it grew. It took him months to accept his feelings for Sherlock; and looking back now he can’t understand what took him so long. Sherlock was his exception to what he thought he liked, and he was perfectly okay with that.

       And as with many of their daily habits, it started after a case. It should hardly come as a surprise that something happened when they both had adrenaline coursing through their veins, coming down off the high of the “fight or flight” feeling that lingered in their brains. So when Sherlock had taken John’s hand in his own, and whispered “Now?” John wasn’t surprised at all; he knew it had been coming. And so he simply replied, “I’m ready.” And with a smile, he pressed his lips to Sherlock’s, soft, sweet, and chaste.

[___]

       It was an unspoken agreement that they had. Sherlock loved The Work, and John understood that. John knew that Sherlock had to endure enough from Sally and Anderson and others, without adding their relationship on top of it. He didn’t want Sherlock to be questioned about why John loved him, or have them cause his insecurities about why John was with him to grow. And like so many other things, it didn’t need to be spoken, because just like the sun will surely rise tomorrow, their words could be understood even when left unsaid.

       So on that lazy Saturday morning, their thoughts were focused on each other; John’s on their pure love, and Sherlock’s on the fact that his mind remained blissfully quiet when surrounded by the anchor that is John’s touch.

       When the kisses became heated, and the light touches weren’t enough anymore, everything deepened. The kiss became deeper and more passionate, the touches firmer and less precise, and their bodies tried to coincide, but could never quite succeed. So getting as closing as they could, and beginning to rub against each other, was a natural progression to take since they could never fully reach the oneness that they both desired. But never too quickly did it end; though it became more heated with every breath they took, the pleasure was in taking their time. That’s how John came to lay on top of Sherlock, both naked and glistening with a fine sheen a sweat, and both rumpled from the attention they lavished each other in.

       It should be noted that Sherlock and John are very focused lovers. When they are giving, they give their all, which is exactly why they never heard the steps, the bust of a lock, or the opening of their bedroom door. It’s why they never realized they had company in their presence until they heard the “Bloody hell!” shouted from the doorway by the Detective Inspector, soon followed by the closing of the door and the yelling of, “Sherlock, hurry up and get out here!” a pause, “Dressed!” And with a last brush of the lips, Sherlock and John both scrambled out of bed, both red from embarrassment and lust.

       After pulling on their rumpled clothes that lay littered on the floor around their bedroom, the men walked into the sitting room; Sherlock took a seat in his usual chair while John went off to make tea. Avoiding the gaze of the consulting detective, Lestrade spoke first,

              “Well, um, sorry to interrupt but… We’re here on a drug bust.”

       “What now, Graham?” Sherlock replied tiredly.

              “Greg!” John yelled from the kitchen.

       “You know what you did; you can’t just take evidence like that. That tortoise shell is rare; it’s going to a museum.” John        came in with a tray of tea, and handed one to Lestrade, Sally, and Anderson.

              “Greg, I’ll bring it in first thing in the morning. I’m sorry he took it. Does that work?”

      Nodding slightly he replied, “Yeah alright, but make sure you don’t crack it. Boss’ll have my arse if that thing gets damaged.”

       Sally, who couldn’t keep her silence anymore, spoke up, “So you and the Freak huh? I saw from the doorway. Bit disturbing if you ask me. Tell me, did he drug you, John?  We can take him in for that, you don’t have to put up with him.”

       Glancing over at Sherlock, John saw him shutting down. The thing about Sherlock was that he was confident, in every way except one. Sherlock had never been taught how to feel things as a child; never been taught love and warmth and kindness, so he didn’t know how to do those things for others. John had been the first and only one who had ever taken the time to teach him; because even if you’re a genius, something’s you can’t teach yourself. So when John saw Sherlock resigning back to himself, to hide in his insecurities and to disappear from the world, it flipped the switch in him. It made his blood boil and his eyes see red that people never took the time to understand Sherlock the way he did. It made him angry that they could be so ruthlessly cruel to what could be such an innocent and scared child-like man. And without a moment’s hesitation, John spoke up,

             “Lestrade, this is enough. I won’t stand for it. It’s bad enough that he gets taunted for his work and the _help_ he gives you, but I will not stand here, or at any crime scene and let these two idiots drive him depressed with their stabs at his feelings. You control them or so help me god we’ll move. We’ll leave to a place with a high crime rate and we will                 never look back. I can promise you that. I. Will. Not. Stand. For. It.”

       He punctuated the last words carefully, his jaw clenching to avoid the yelling fit that was brewing down deep.

    It was at this point that Lestrade, Sally, and Anderson had their mouths open in an ‘o’, and shocked expressions on their faces. For the first time they’d seen not John-the doctor, but John-the soldier. They saw what made him such a ruthless man when he needed to be, and they all came to the conclusion that John-the soldier was not a force to be reckoned with.

       Lestrade, shocked but still capable of thought, quickly closed his mouth and nodded, turning for the exit while dragging the two officers by their sleeves, intending to write them up and yell at them for a good, long, time when they reached the office. Meanwhile Sherlock was still in his mind, hiding his consciousness behind the blank look that inhabited his face.

       John soon became the doctor/lover again and started to coax his detective out of his mind. Whispering reassurances in the taller man’s ear and placing soft kisses with the words, “I love you” anywhere he could reach. And while he knew that the damage was done, and that he’d have to build his detective again, he was okay with that, because John would go the mile for Sherlock, any day of the week.

**Author's Note:**

> So I don't know how fluffy it is, and I don't have much smut (because I just can't write it-I'm sorry) but here ya go. Hope ya like it.
> 
>  
> 
> **I take prompts! Send me one!**
> 
> 4/13/15: Please do not duplicate or post this content elsewhere without consent.


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